You Ain't Woman Enough
by vicodin-vixens
Summary: A Christmas present from one Vixen to another. Just because you say you moved on, doesn't mean you have. Warnings: Slash. We own nothing but a hearty distaste for all things Huddy.


**A/N: Thing One here. This is a Christmas present for my very best friend, my partner in crime, the House to my Wilson. Enjoy!**

Wilson truly felt he understood now what a 'day from hell' entailed. He had endured just such a day today.

It began this morning, which now felt like an eternity ago. It had been raining, big, fat, cold drops that slid down between his neck and collar and soaked his new shoes.

The lid from his takeout coffee cup had not been placed on tight enough, and during his commute to work, coffee had sloshed out and filled his cup-holders. It had taken half an hour to clean them out properly, and the result was that, while his car was clean once again, he was late for work.

Patients were already waiting in his office for him, none too pleased that he was late. They left even more ticked off, when Wilson told Mrs. Witherspoon that she would have to come back for another mammogram next week, as her results were inconclusive.

Another patient (not his this time, thankfully) had vomited in the MRI machine, and that meant that all _his _patients tests were either pushed back or rescheduled for another day.

He'd had to sit and watch as a medical student struggled with inserting his IVs, and then had to hold the hands of a wife as she was told her husband's cancer was inoperable. She'd cried on Wilson's shoulder and inadvertently used his tie to blot her running mascara.

Wilson only wanted to be at home, with some decent take-out, a six-pack of beer and House.

While Wilson wasn't deluded enough to think that he could garner any sympathy from House, he was sure that simply spending time alone together would have the desired effect of making Wilson forget about his troubles for awhile.

He stopped for the food and the beer on the way home, then struggled with carrying the take-out bag, box of beer, briefcase, umbrella and keys all into the apartment.

"House?" he called out, elbowing his way into the apartment, "A little help?"

Silence.

Huh. That was odd.

House almost always arrived home before Wilson, possibly because he never stayed at the hospital past 3:00 if he could help it.

Wilson fumbled his way into the kitchen and set the Chinese food and beer on the counter, then put away his other belongings, sure that any moment now, House would arrive home.

He checked the answering machine, as well as the countertops and fridge for any sign of a note. Not that he really expected House to leave him a note; that would imply consideration, and as he well knew, House had none.

Wilson stood in his empty kitchen, hands on hips, wondering if he should call House's cell or start in on the food by himself.

In the end, with the smell of General Tao's chicken beckoning, he decided on food. If House still wasn't home in an hour or so, Wilson would try the cell.

He had to admit to himself that it was peaceful, being able to eat alone in the living room and watch reruns of 'The Golden Girls' without House harassing him to change the channel or fetch him another beer.

Still, Wilson thought, blotting sweet and sour sauce from his mouth, it would be nice if House were here. He wouldn't actually ever admit it, but he really _missed_ House.

Wilson had grown accustomed to having House there at all times, and since their relationship had evolved from friendship to something more, their time together had only increased.

Somehow, Wilson didn't feel right now, eating without House's elbow on his leg, or House's hands everywhere on Wilson's body, trying, and nearly always succeeding, to distract Wilson from eating, working, or whatever else he was doing at that moment.

Wilson smiled as he remembered last night, sitting on the couch beside House, attempting to finish some paperwork that he'd brought home with him.

The paperwork had ended up scattered on the floor, while Wilson had ended up thrown over the back of the couch with House pressing heavily into him.

He really couldn't think of a better way to christen their new furniture. Indeed, House had insisted on 'breaking in' the new couch, bed and carpet, pretty much the whole house. Including a few places Wilson would never have thought possible.

Wilson glanced around the room, and realized that they'd missed a spot. The front-hall closet should have enough room to accommodate two grown men. He made a mental note to tell House when he got home.

He absently pushed buttons on the television remote, changing the channels, but not really paying attention to what was showing on the screen. Wilson was thinking about how his relationship with House had progressed from friendship to something more.

Wilson always thought, in the back of his mind, that it would happen sooner or later, but he was still (pleasantly) surprised that it did.

Buying the house together seemed to be a pivotal step forward in the relationship direction. And one day, when Wilson had come home from work and settled into his familiar place on the couch beside House, they had just looked at each other and _known._

And just like that it had happened. The next weekend, House had moved permanently into Wilson's bedroom. They were together, though there was no talk about how long it would last, or how they felt about each other, it was evident they were simply meant to be.

Wilson smiled as he thought how House would hate to hear him say that, but Wilson wasn't entirely above cliches. Especially when they worked. And nothing seemed to work as well as the two of them together. Not that they didn't have the occasional argument every now and then (more often when House was just being a dick), but it wasn't anything they hadn't already been through, and Wilson thought their long-lasting friendship was the reason why they would last.

Frowning, Wilson checked his watch again and realized that he was just going to have to call House and find out exactly where he was, or he would spend all night worrying.

He stood up and punched House's number into his cell phone, running a distracted hand through his hair as he waited for House to pick up.

Instead, the front door banged open, and House limped in, grinning from ear to ear.

"Where were you?" Wilson demanded, phone still to his ear.

House waved him away, "Put down the phone. I'm right here."

Wilson looked at the phone as if he had no idea how it had ended up in his hand, then put it down on the coffee table and turned to face House once more.

"Where were you?" he repeated.

"Oh, goody," House smiled as he spotted the take-out bag on the kitchen counter, "You brought food."

He piled his plate full, grabbed a bottle of beer and headed for the couch, where he promptly changed the channel from the infomercials Wilson hadn't been watching, to something more appropriate - CSI.

"Did I forget to speak out loud again?" Wilson asked, scratching his head, "I hate when I do that. Let's try this again: Where were you?"

He deliberately stood in front of the television to make sure he had House's attention.

House motioned Wilson away with a flick of his fork, "Move."

Wilson's eyes widened as he obediently took his place beside House, looking at him with imploring eyes.

"Was nothing," House grumbled around a mouthful of Peking duck, "I went with Cuddy to see Richard Thompson play. Great duck, but you forgot the Kung Pao."

"You went with Cuddy?" Wilson asked, feeling his brows furrow, "Why?"

"Are you kidding me?" House asked incredulously, "Why wouldn't I?"

Wilson shook his head and fought the impulse to start pacing the living room, "Oh, I don't know, House. Maybe because it's Cuddy?!"

"And?"

"I thought you were over her!" Wilson said, hating the way his voice rose.

"Aw, you're jealous," House answered, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile, "Isn't that sweet?"

Wilson forced himself to count to ten before replying, "I'm not jealous. It's just that....well, you know. You said you were in love with her and had a really hard time moving on after she and Lucas moved in together."

Setting down his empty plate, House hit the mute button and faced Wilson, "Look, don't get your panties in a bunch, alright? It was nothing. Cuddy had tickets, Lucas was working out of town. She thought I'd be interested in going. No big deal."

Wilson seemed somewhat placated by House's words, and relaxed visibly, reaching out a hand to rest on House's knee.

"We forgot the front hall closet." he said softly, with a wink.

House grinned, "Yes, we did. Let's remedy that."

Wilson slept fitfully that night.

Something about Cuddy's behaviour just seemed....off.

Prior to House and Wilson getting involved, Cuddy had wanted nothing more than to have House leave her alone.

So why was she inviting him out to places now?

When they woke the next morning, Wilson was determined to make House realize that he belonged here, with Wilson.

It was hard to say what House had enjoyed more, the impromptu blow job or the omelette Wilson made him for breakfast.

House seemed to have forgotten about the events of last night, and Wilson wasn't about to bring them up again. The less time House spent thinking about Cuddy, the better it was for Wilson.

They spent an amicable drive to work, and House even let Wilson kiss him goodbye (before they got out of the car, of course. Wouldn't want anyone to see PDA's from House. That might ruin his reputation).

House and his team were busy with a case, so Wilson didn't get to see much of him that day, but it gave Wilson the perfect opportunity to do some covert observation.

He watched as Cuddy interrupted House's differential, with some seemingly important paperwork. He wondered if her necklines had always been so low, and if so, how had he missed that?

Wilson might be gay, but he sure wasn't dead, and he could definitely appreciate a pair of beautiful breasts. And if he could, House sure as hell could.

He chewed at the corner of his lip as he watched Cuddy walk away, swinging her hips as much as her tight skirt would allow.  
Wilson looked up to see House watching him, and he offered a little wave, then walked purposefully down the hall as if he had important business to attend to. Dying patients and all that.

Wilson made it back to his office, told his secretary to hold his calls, then sat in his chair and tried to figure things out.

_Was_there something going on between House and Cuddy?

Lucas hadn't worked a day since hooking up with Cuddy, why should he suddenly be out of town?

And since when did Cuddy leave House's office with a smile on her face?

Something was definitely up, and Wilson was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He knew he would be wasting his time talking to House, so he figured a quick trip to see the esteemed Dean of Medicine was in order.

Cuddy had her back to Wilson when he entered, talking on the phone. Wilson stood, hands on his hips, and tried to eavesdrop, but she was speaking too low.

His stomach tightened as he pictured House on the other line.

She spun her chair around, hung up the phone and smiled brightly (too brightly, Wilson thought) at him.

"What's up?"

"We need to talk." he stated, sliding his hands into his pockets and trying to look casual.

Cuddy made a point of looking at her watch, then pursed her lips and nodded at Wilson, "You gonna sit down, or just stand there and glower at me?"

He was tempted to answer that glowering suited him just fine, but in the end decided maybe a good defense was his best option right now.

"Um..well..alright," Wilson stammered as he lowered himself into the chair in front of Cuddy's desk, "I just need to know...well...um...what's the deal with you and House?"

He expected some blushing, some denial, some sign that there was something going on, but to his surprise, Cuddy laughed.

"Wilson, what are you talking about? That thing last night? It was nothing. I had tickets and I had to be there, and Lucas was out of town. It seemed right up House's alley though, so I invited him instead."

Wilson nodded curtly, "Yeah, that's what he said, too."

She held up her perfectly manicured hands, "Well, there you have it. I really have to run."

Cuddy made it halfway around her desk before Wilson stopped her.

"Wait-" he said, standing up again.

She sighed heavily, then perched on the edge of her desk, arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"I'm just going to come right out and say it," Wilson began, "House has moved on. Without you. With me, actually. I know you know that. I'm just not sure you _understand_ it."

Cuddy frowned, "Of course I do. I already told you-"

He cut her off, "I know you told me. But I also think that maybe you liked it when House was hanging around you like a little lost puppy dog. It's got to be an ego-boost. And maybe now that he has moved on, and isn't mooning over you anymore, maybe that hurts a little bit. Maybe you're trying to get that back."

"You're being ridiculous." Cuddy stated, looking affronted, "I'm glad House has moved on. I'm glad he's found someone else. I certainly don't miss being harassed all the time."

Wilson stared at her, his brown eyes intent, "Are you sure? Because you're not acting like you're glad."

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it quickly again. Apparently Wilson's words gave her something to think about.

"Just remember- maybe for the first time in his life, House is _happy_. He'd never admit that, not in a million years, but we both know it's true. And I know that you want to be his friend. So be a friend and be happy _for _him." Wilson said softly and turned to walk away.

Cuddy sat, mute, on her desk, staring at Wilson's back as he left.

Wilson stopped at the vending machine on his way back to his office and purchased two packages of Cheetos. He opened the door to House's office and threw one on his desk.

"You're buying the coffee." Wilson said, casting a smile over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Wilson." House barked to Wilson's retreating back.

Wilson stopped, then turned around slowly, an expectant look upon his face.

"I just got off the phone with Cuddy."

"Yeah? She has more tickets to see Tom Richardson?" asked Wilson, innocently.

House scowled, "Richard Thompson. And no. But it seems like she had quite an _interesting_ conversation with you."

"Really?" asked Wilson, walking over and folding himself into the chair in front of House's desk.

House picked up his giant tennis ball and flexed his fingers on it, before throwing it up in the air and catching it deftly, selecting his words carefully, "I already told you I was over it."

"I know you did," Wilson sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I just-"

House suddenly leaned forward, cutting Wilson off, "I know, Wilson. You _care. _It's what you do. It's who you are."

Wilson pushed himself up out of the chair and walked around to House's side of the desk, his hands clenched as he fought the desire to grab House and kiss him. But the walls were made of glass, and sometimes he thought maybe House was, too.

"I do." He whispered hoarsely, and settled for placing his hand on top of House's.

House looked at their hands, then back up into Wilson's eyes, "I know." he said.

Wilson nodded, "Kay then. Work to do. Dying patients and all that."

He winked, then turned to walk away once more.

"Wilson." House's voice stopped him again. This time Wilson didn't turn around, so House couldn't see him smile when House added, "Thanks."

And with his hand on the door, ready to leave, Wilson angled his head in House's direction, "What about the island in the kitchen?"

He laughed as he saw House's blue eyes widen, then his lips twitch in a grin as he nodded, then picked up a folder and went back to work.


End file.
